


She Calls Me Your Highness

by purecamp



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Princess AU, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21322981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purecamp/pseuds/purecamp
Summary: Princess Willam has this maid, and this friend, and this confusing person who makes her feel strange. She's poor and she knows her place. But she's so funny and she's so beautiful and everything doesn't make sense.
Relationships: Sharon Needles/Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, Willam Belli/Sharon Needles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	She Calls Me Your Highness

Willam has an odd relationship with Sharon.

Well. That’s one way of putting it, anyway.

It started, she pondered, the moment they had met, eight years ago at the tender age of thirteen. Sharon was this scruffy thing, tall and skinny and entirely too long to look normal, dressed in ill-fitting scraps with a keen glint in her eyes. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek that Willam’s gaze had fixated on immediately.

The large, stocky man behind her coughed subtly, nudging Sharon with his foot. Willam had waited patiently, her parents stood protectively either side of her.

It was the first time anyone had ever forgotten to curtsey.

A sharp thwack to the back of Sharon’s head soon corrected that wrong, and then she grinned at Willam as if to apologise. Which, whilst charming, was definitely not the correct protocol to address a young princess.

“Sharon.” The handler hissed. “Do you intend on eating tonight? Introduce yourself.”

Willam pursed her lips and remained silent; after all, she had been taught to do so. It was polite to allow non-royal folk a chance to exercise their poor attempts at grace and decorum. As a future ruler, it would make her look kind and down-to-earth, which was a desirable image. Everything was about cultivating the right image, as Willam would come to learn.

Sharon ran a hand - skeletal, with long, knobbly fingers - through her ratty almost-white hair. “Hello.”

Her voice was plain, provincial, with a hint of theatricality behind the emphasis in the way she spoke. There was nothing too offensive about it, but her parents had gasped as though affronted and the handler, who Willam was beginning to dislike, delivered another well-placed slap to the back of Sharon’s head.

She had forgotten to address her properly.

Rubbing the tender spot, she tried again. “Hello, Willam?”

Back then, Willam hadn’t known that she should be taking offense, but all children learn through doing. Surely, logically, judging by the muttered curses of her father and the utter mortification of the now-exasperated handler, she should be highly taken aback. She did her best to mimic their expressions, and to suppress the slight twinge of sympathy she felt when yet another blow struck the young girl.

At that point, it had seemed like Sharon was truly at a loss. Looking back on it, she hadn’t behaved insolent and rude, she had simply behaved like a child who didn’t know any better - or a child who knew better but had evidently forgotten in the face of a brand new situation.

“Princess?” Sharon attempted a third time, the glint in her eyes replaced with a nervous, hopeful shine.

The final blow came out of nowhere, and knocked the unsteady girl to the ground. Her height meant nothing in the absence of adolescent strength, and she hit the floor with the full force of an adult man. The handler placed his foot in the centre of her back, grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head upwards so that, as she struggled for breath, her eyes could meet nobody’s except for Willam’s. Her face was directly level with Willam’s feet.

“G-Good to meet you, Your Highness.”

Satisfied, Willam’s parents and the somewhat cruel handler left the room to begin their business discussion, something that Willam was no doubt too young to understand or take part in. She didn’t know why Sharon had been brought to her, or why anything that had happened in the last few minutes had actually happened, but such was the life of a princess learning to be queen. Sharon stayed on the floor, her gaze still level with Willam’s feet, her breaths shaky and uneven.

Everyone said that was simply her place; on the ground, far beneath Willam. A lowly serving girl and nothing more.

It only took a few lessons in grace and status for Willam to learn that it was indeed the truth, and to quietly, complacently accept that girls like Sharon belonged where they were, and were treated how they were treated for good reason. So after that it was okay, she presumed.

–

Then they were fifteen, and Willam’s parents were holding a ball in the palace. It was fantastic news for Willam, who had been dying to meet with her friends for ages only to find them all busy with various courtly duties. Princess Alaska of the neighbouring kingdom had been away in some special school, no doubt nurturing her singing talent, and Willam had missed laughing with her. Princess Courtney hadn’t exactly been busy, per se, but she lived so far that the expenditures for travelling were a little too high, so letters had to suffice.

That meant that Willam’s only real company - discounting the governesses, who didn’t count because they were fucking boring - were the servants. Most of them didn’t really speak to Willam all that much, hyper aware that saying the wrong thing could cost more than their job was worth. Only one ever seemed to have the sheer gall to bite back and engage - and to nobody’s surprise, it was Sharon.

Willam reasoned to herself that she had requested Sharon specifically an hour and a half before the ball began because she was entertaining. Yes, that was it. That was the only reason, of course.

Her entrance was less than graceful, starkly different to that of the other serving girls. She didn’t lightly pad in, delicately opening the door and balancing the teapot and tray in the other arm - oh no, not at all. Sharon, ever the practical one, opted to barge the door open with her hip and charge in with the tea laid out in the tray which she held steadily with two hands.

Practical, yes, but unconventional and unbecoming of a palace servant.

“Hey, it’s my favourite ever princess. Afternoon, Willam.” She settled the tray down on a nearby table and flashed a grin - showing off her hideous gap tooth. It wasn’t hideous, really, and Willam was quite fond of it, but she had been told it wasn’t desirable, so she pretended she found it disgusting.

“You’re not supposed to call me that.” She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sharon shrugged. “What, princess?”

She was being pedantic. Sharon was always pedantic, which would’ve been infuriating if Willam wasn’t secretly the same way. Plus, although it was a secret she would never share, Willam was sure that if Sharon wore nicer clothes, tended to her hair and scrubbed off the dirt that appeared habitually on her cheeks, she would be quite pleasing to look at. Only if she made all that effort, though.

“No, Willam. You’re not supposed to call me Willam.”

The argument was pointless. Sharon shrugged a second time.

“It’s your God-given name, isn’t it? Am I not allowed to address you as God would?”

“You’re not God.”

“And thank fuck for that.”

Yeah, that was another thing about Sharon; she swore like a sailor, and it had gotten her in heaps of trouble throughout her time at the palace. Willam, nevertheless, appreciated the refreshing colloquialisms that reminded her that life existed beyond the palace walls.

Sharon picked up the tray again, starting towards the parlour that led off from Willam’s bedchambers. Still laughing, Willam shook her head and flopped onto the bed beside her ballgown, which was laid out ready for the evening.

“Sharon…” She whined, deliberately elongating her name. “Just do it in here, I can’t be bothered to walk all the way into there.”

The fatal mistake came when Willam grabbed Sharon’s forearm, forgetting that her hands were perpetually icy and shocking to the touch. Sharon jerked instinctively, and time seemed to slow down as the tray clattered to the floor, the teapot spilled open, and its entire contents splattered over Willam’s ballgown.

Willam stifled a laugh, which stilled into a chilling silence as she studied Sharon’s face. She had frozen in place, her mouth open ever-so-slightly, her eyes wide and filled with fright. Fragments of the now-shattered teapot littered the floor as evidence of the mistake and the dress… The dress was utterly ruined.

“Sharon, it’s okay-” Willam began, before one of the governesses came to discover the source of the sudden commotion.

“What is- Oh, you useless girl!” She cried out, grabbing Sharon by the wrist and forcing her aside. “Look what you’ve done to that beautiful dress! That cost more than your whole family could earn in ten years!”

The analogy shook Willam a little bit, wondering if it meant that the dress was expensive, Sharon’s family was poor, or an upsetting mixture of the two. More worrying was the attitude and confidence that had drained out of Sharon and puddled on the floor along with the tea.

“I-I know, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

Willam remembered being so annoyed that Sharon was taking the blame. She hadn’t done anything wrong, for crying out loud, and yet she had clammed up uncharacteristically and accepted her responsibility for it.

“Ada, be reasonable.” Willam tried to calm the angry governess. “Look, all that happened was that Sharon was carrying the tea into the parlour and I-”

Sharon cut in swiftly. “I stumbled and dropped the tray, ma’am. I-I truly didn’t mean to, and if you would permit me to express how sorry I am I would like to redeem myself by helping Her Highness prepare for the ball.”

The governess snorted. “Hmph. Insolent girl. You may help the princess, after you have been punished for this silly amateur mishap. Do not let this happen again or the consequences will be much more severe. In the meantime, I will have Governess Nina bring out the spare gown.”

Willam lay on the bed and closed her eyes after they left, humming to try and drown out the sound of the whip cracking through the air and the pained cries that followed each one. She turned over once and then again, her stomach churning with a mixture of guilt and anger that didn’t sit well with her at all. She would never be able to figure out Sharon Needles, she decided, as a particularly agonised scream had her curling in on herself, sure she had caused that pain and simultaneously adamant that she hadn’t, given Sharon’s insistence.

She was fucking confusing, that was for sure.

Still as unwavering as ever, Sharon had appeared nonetheless a short while later, her hair more dishevelled than before and her face adorning a tight smile. Her steps were slow and deliberate and Willam ached to think of the damage the cruel whip had done to her, for no reason. She said nothing as Sharon let herself in, and examined the new dress on the bed.

“Well. If anything, I think this dress is prettier than the first one.” Sharon said dryly.

Willam rose to her feet, incensed. “Why the fuck would you do that? You know damn well that was my fault and she would never have fucking whipped me for it, so why even bother taking the blame? Are you an idiot?”

“No, Willam, I’m a servant. I’m beneath you. It’s my job to take the flack when shit like this happens.”

She had crossed her arms, and Willam’s eyes darted unwittingly to her chest before rising up again, only adding to her flushed cheeks.

“Your job is to serve, not to lie and take the heat for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and began to prepare the dress for Willam. “You’re welcome.”

“…Thanks.” Willam acquiesced, huffing slightly. “I’m not gonna apologise for going off on you, because I meant it and also I don’t apologise, but thanks for doing that. It wasn’t necessary, but it was nice I guess.”

It hit Willam all of a sudden the many times she had broken or ruined something, and the many times she had received no penance for it. Perhaps it wasn’t such a coincidence that Sharon always had dirt on her cheek, a bruise on her arm, a limp in her walk. Surely she hadn’t been taking responsibility for that the whole time?

God, if Sharon could stop and make sense for five minutes, it would make Willam’s life a lot easier. She still couldn’t work out if she actually liked Sharon, or if she didn’t.

“You’re not… you’re not mad at me, right?” Willam breached the topic as she stood before the mirror, Sharon behind her.

Sharon’s fingers were still long and knobbly, but swift and adept at performing most tasks she was asked to do. She fiddled with the laces of the corset and raised an eyebrow in nonchalance.

“Sounding a little insecure there, Willam.”

Infuriating. “No, I just mean - God, you’re an asshole. I mean for taking all the hits for me.”

“I’m not mad.” Sharon replied shortly.

She tugged on the corset strings, and Willam bucked forward, all of the air in her throat exiting in one strangled gasp as Sharon viciously tightened it to suck in her waist.

Oh, she was mad. Yeah, Willam didn’t like her again.

–

Eighteen years old. Another ball. Courtney was somewhere fraternizing with the rest of the foreigners (as Willam affectionately called her family and the rest of them), and Willam would rather die than talk to Vicky, so she started looking around for Alaska. She should’ve known the leggy blonde wasn’t there from the absence of her screechy laugh, but she paced the ballroom for a short while before deciding to step out into the gardens in a fit of anger.

Alaska wasn’t even in the ballroom, and Willam knew she hadn’t skipped out on the event because she had seen her sweeping in with her parents, her petite figure hidden beneath her opulent blue gown.

Where the hell had she got to?

Willam grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing servant and began to wander through the garden, stewing in her own frustration. The tightness of her corset wasn’t helping matters, either, as she tried to sit on a bench a few inches from the barn and found the task nearly impossible. Briefly, she thought about the freedom of the birds that fluttered above her in the branches, before dismissing the notion as too cliche and sickeningly cringy. Willam had more freedom than she cared to acknowledge - her only real constraint was fashion.

Still, she kicked a trowel out of her way and began pacing again, irritated at Alaska’s absence. She better have a good explanation for it, or else Willam would have to write to Vicky after the ball and tell her that Alaska was absolutely enchanted with her, and they should meet up as soon as possible to discuss a family alliance. It was cruel, yes, but it was what she deserved for leaving Willam all alone. She sighed, and turned back towards the palace.

The barn light was on.

Why the hell was the barn light on? Nobody was in the barn. There weren’t even any horses in the barn, or whatever else was kept in there (Willam didn’t know, having never been allowed to step foot somewhere so dirty). If some idiot servant had left the candles lit amongst all that hay, there would be hell to pay - that is, if the entire fucking palace didn’t burn down.

She considered fetching Charles, the gardener, but figured that it wasn’t fair to bother him on his night off. Her mind filled her with instances of Sharon - fucking Sharon crossing her mind again, annoying bitch - taking the blame for Willam’s messiness, and she decided perhaps it was her time to help out a forgetful servant.

The door to the barn was heavy, but opened slowly and silently as Willam pushed on it. It allowed her ample time to examine the room before her, taking in nothing but piles of hay and candles lit all around the edges to give the place some light. Empty, it seemed.

Or not. The silence of the door and Willam’s light footsteps gave nothing away as she slowly stepped in, snuffing the two candles either side of the door. It made little difference to the amount of light in the room, but it was a start. Two more steps forwards towards the next candle and Willam suddenly heard a rustling that made her heart stop.

Was it some kind of wild animal? Or a trap, maybe, designed to lure an innocent - allegedly - princess to her grisly end? Okay, maybe not so much the last one, considering the amount of variables that had led to Willam entering the barn in the first place. Still, some kind of crazy raccoon or fox wasn’t really off limits, not yet.

Willam held her breath as she began to tiptoe around the largest mound of hay, which rose up several feet beyond her height. Then, filling her with first fear, then dread, and lastly confusion, she heard a giggle.

“Do that again,” A voice floated out, ever-so quiet, and yet oddly familiar in a way Willam couldn’t place. She stood still and listened.

Another voice replied. “What, this?”

Both voices seemed far too familiar, but in her confusion Willam had no idea who they were. She kept straining to listen, hoping that the more she heard, the sooner she would remember who the voices belonged to. In the meantime, she heard a soft gasp and a satisfied hum.

“If someone saw us right now-” The first voice said, though she didn’t sound worried at all.

“What would you do?” The second asked, and did something that caused the first to giggle again.

“Probably keep kissing you.”

A gasp. “You’re so bad.”

“You’re a bad influence on me, baby. Oh my god!”

Whatever the oh my god was in response to, Willam didn’t care to find out, because the voices suddenly registered in her mind and it was enough to send her reeling. She stepped out from behind the hay to confront to two.

“Okay, what the fuck?!”

Willam wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.

Alaska lay against the hay, her beautiful gown still thankfully draped across her but her hair and her lipstick all in disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with what initially seemed like arousal, but something deeper and more tender filled her gaze. Straddled over her hips was Sharon, dressed in a manner than Willam had never seen her in before, her eyes clouded with the same amalgamation of lust, desire and affection as Alaska’s. For starters, she was wearing breeches, which were impossibly tight and brown and clung to every sinful curve of her ass and thighs in a way that was deeply inappropriate for any lady, even a poor one. The off-white blouse she was wearing had long, billowing sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, and it was half ripped open, presumably by Alaska’s hands, to reveal her breasts. Her chest was heaving up and down and Willam couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Willam!” Alaska screeched, pushing Sharon off of her and shooting to her feet. “I - uh - we were just-”

“Save it.” Willam nearly spat, not sure why she was angry but too incensed to step back and think about it. “I can see what you were doing, it’s clear as fucking crystal. Are you insane?! She’s a servant!”

Alaska babbled helplessly, fussing with her hair and trying her hardest to save face. Sharon, now stood a few feet behind her, was breathing heavily, evidently also angry, but her failure to button up her shirt had Willam going dizzy.

“You’re a princess, and she’s a servant.” She repeated, well aware that this was what was causing Sharon’s fiery glare. “And you’re making out in my fucking barn? Don’t you have any common sense? Aren’t your parents in the midst of planning your fucking marriage?”

Alaska had the decency to look ashamed, but still attempted to defend herself. “Actually, they’re not, Willam. I did what you said and I told them I’m not ready, and they said it was okay and they’ve given me more time.”

“How did you even meet? Is this the first time that you’ve-” The words caught in Willam’s throat, but she didn’t know why. She refused to meet Sharon’s eyes and directed her fury to Alaska.

“I-”

Sharon stepped forwards, and Willam hated how shameless she was with her nudity. “No, Your Highness, this isn’t the first time this has happened. But not here.”

They both fell silent. Neither of them told Willam where they had met, and her wrath only incurred further. Still, Alaska’s eyes were filled with guilty tears, and perhaps it was time she doled out some of her anger on Sharon instead.

“Your mother wants you. Go find her.”

Alaska didn’t need to be told twice, first shooting a pained glance in Sharon’s direction and then lifting her skirt to exit the barn as quickly as she possibly could. Willam redirected her anger to Sharon, who looked exquisite in the softly flickering candlelight.

What?

“Don’t be so harsh on Alaska, this isn’t her fault.” Sharon said roughly.

Willam snorted derisively. “What, so you’re taking the blame for everything she does wrong now, too? Guess I’m not so special after all, huh.”

Sounding a little insecure there, Willam. “Wrong?”

It was only one word, but it was laced with a dangerous tone that sent shivers running down Willam’s spine, and yet… a peculiar feeling pooling in her lower half. What the hell was Sharon doing to her?

“Whatever. Listen to me, Sharon, I want to know -”

“No.” Sharon came closer, and yet again Willam found her eyes somehow mesmerised by her exposed breasts. “No, I wanna talk about why you think it’s so disgusting and wrong for someone like Alaska to be kissing someone like me.”

Willam swallowed angrily. “I didn’t say that.”

“You meant it though, didn’t you? All you fucking royal folk are the same, you think I’m some kind of dirty plaything that everyone wants to look at but won’t touch. I care about Alaska.”

“All of us royal folk? Can you even hear the bullshit you’re spouting right now?” Willam spluttered.

Sharon’s face hardened. “You haven’t stopped staring since you walked in. I know exactly what I fucking mean.”

She sighed heavily. “I met Alaska at the ball six months ago, when I was on serving duty. She was sweet and she started asking me about myself, and I didn’t tell her anything because that’s my fucking job as a lowlife servant, but she kept trying and she was so kind that she wore me down. It wasn’t long after that when she found out about my side-gig and she begged me to show her. This is my fault, not hers.”

Willam’s blood ran cold as she pictured the two of them together in more intimate situations - various states of undress, or perhaps entirely unclothed, kissing hard and fast in sleazy taverns across the kingdom.

“Your… side-gig?” Despite her best efforts, Willam’s voice was wracked with confusion and - regrettably - a hint of fear.

Sharon shook her head, like the assumption offended her. “I’m not a prostitute, Willam, I wasn’t offering her my services. I - There’s a group of us down in the outskirts of the kingdom who grew up poor and working on our scraps of farm land. There used to be a ton of bandits, so we learned how to fight them off and they’re gone now, but there’s this small sparring club where we keep fit and teach others to fight. I’ve been privately sparring with Alaska for the last few months, and… I guess one thing led to another.”

Sparring? That was an improvement from prostitution, sure, but the trust and the intimacy of it didn’t escape her mind. She could see the two of them sweating and panting, Alaska dressed in the same inappropriate garb as Sharon as their limbs connected, blocking and dodging and swerving with some kind of alluring grace that made no sense. She could see Sharon’s muscles flexing in the tight breeches, watch her chest rising and falling with exhaustion as she ripped the shirt open and poured cold water over her head to cool herself.

What was happening to her?

“Teach me.”

The command came out of nowhere, but a command it was.

“Huh?”

“I said, teach me.” Willam repeated. “And I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Sharon laughed mirthlessly. “Are you blackmailing me?”

This time, it was Willam who stepped closer. They were merely inches apart, and if Willam were to do as much as to suck in a deep breath, her dress would be pressed against Sharon’s bare chest. The very thought had her pulse racing.

“Not blackmailing you. I just… want to learn. Embroidery is boring, and… if I tell the governesses I’ve taken up landscape paintings, they’ll send you with me to keep me safe…”

She smiled gently, not sure where her anger had gone but not missing the blazing heat it had inflamed inside her. It didn’t make any sense, and she was glad it had gone. Her tummy fluttered as Sharon grinned, shyly at first, until her face split into her usual amused expression. God, she’s fucking beautiful in this light.

“Alright, Willam. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess I should do up my shirt now, huh.”

Willam eyed the beginnings of a love bite on Sharon’s neck and felt the familiar flames licking at her insides once again. She turned away to leave.

“Should doesn’t always mean you have to. I usually take should as a suggestion, nothing more.”

–

For two years they sparred together, and for two years Willam’s relationship with Sharon seemed to get weirder and weirder. Sparring was just as she’d predicted, hot and heavy, and it was a shock to the system being so physical with someone. Sharon’s boundaries disappeared once they were out in the open, safe from everyone in miles upon miles of green grass that stretched far enough to obscure them from sight.

Most of the time they sparred and talked; sometimes they just sparred; sometimes they just talked. Willam wasn’t as good as Sharon, but she was learning, and most importantly, she was spending time with her.

Not that she was really sure why that made her so happy, but it did.

When Willam arrived at their usual spot, thanking whoever was listening up above for the perfectly cool, fresh weather for training in, she found Sharon alone with a piece of paper held between her hands. She hadn’t noticed Willam’s presence, and didn’t even glance up as she called her name.

Why was she so desperate for Sharon’s attention? She was a fucking princess, everyone paid attention to her.

“Uh, Sharon? Hello?”

Sharon looked up, only for a moment, and then her eyes dropped back down to the paper in front of her. “Yes, I can see you.”

So fucking irritating. Some things would never change, Willam thought to herself. Even as she had grown older, more beautiful, capturing Willam’s attention - she was still a bitch with an attitude far too uncouth for a serving girl. Then again, she supposed, out here Sharon wasn’t a palace servant. She was a sparring teacher and a free woman, a liberty she could seldom enjoy. Willam’s authority didn’t mean shit here.

“Are we sparring today?” Willam tried to tone down the hopefulness in her voice. In truth, she had been looking forwards to it for a fortnight. Her parents had dragged her to another kingdom to sit in on their business relations, in order to get a concept of what she would need to do when it came her time to be queen, but she felt stifled and bored without Sharon to bounce off of. She had declined the offer to come along on the trip, leaving Willam to take some other stuffy maid who lived only to serve, never to laugh or put Willam in her place.

She had thought about Sharon the entire time. Missed her, even. It didn’t make much sense, but she knew that was how she had felt.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Sharon’s words were clipped. Willam sat down beside her, already kitted out in her own breeches so that she didn’t have to worry about grass stains on her clothes, and sighed frustratedly.

“Ugh, thanks. Make me walk all the way out here for nothing, huh?” She complained, wincing at how entitled she sounded. Sometimes being a princess had its downfalls, and this was one of them.

Sharon scowled. “I didn’t have to sit here and wait for you, ungrateful bitch. I came just so you wouldn’t be all freaked out that I ditched you. I just don’t want to fucking spar, that’s all. Go practise with the dummy if you really wanna fight. Work on your precision.”

Willam started pulling grass out of the ground in handfuls, trying and failing to quell the feeling rising in her stomach. What even was it, anyway? Disappointment? Resentment? Anger? Jealousy?

“Too worn out from Alaska, huh?” She remarked petulantly, kicking a clod of mud from the ground and watching it fly through the air.

Sharon folded the letter. “Actually, we split up if you must know. Is it fun being an asshole all the time, or do you ever get bored of it?”

Something stirred inside her, but she didn’t know quite what it was. The concern she felt for her friend - if she could even call Sharon her friend, because she truly had no idea what the relationship between her and her servant would even be called at this point - only appeared afterwards, in the wake of the sudden surge of warmth.

“Shit… God, I’m sorry, Sharon. Is that letter from her?”

Sharon nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. She pulled her knees close to her chest and frowned. “It’s been a long time coming, to be honest. I knew it would arrive at some point, I just didn’t know when. Ever since her coronation she’s been different. She doesn’t want to know me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Willam attempted to comfort her, reaching out a shaky hand to rub Sharon’s back. That was what people did, right? A normal, friendly action. Electric sparks seemed to jump from her fingertips at the slightest bit of contact.

“She’s been stressed, Sharon, it’s a difficult job. I’m sure it’s not that she doesn’t want to see you.”

“She’s changed.” Sharon insisted, her words tinged with bitterness. “I’ll tell you the truth about her, Willam, she’s just fucking ambitious. She’ll stop at nothing to make herself and her kingdom powerful, it’s all she cares about now. When was the last time she wrote to you? Alaska, she… she’s been distant with me for months now. Doesn’t want to train, doesn’t want to meet up, too busy to care that it was my birthday and I waited up all night for her… All she wants is to have power. Last I heard, she’s in the midst of a proposal from Grigolia. She doesn’t love him, of course, but they’re incredibly influential. It’ll be great for her kingdom.”

She sighed, and it was strained with unshed tears. “I’m happy for her. She got over the anxiety she was having over being a queen and now she’s thriving. I just didn’t realize that I had to be out of the picture for that to happen.”

Willam sucked in a breath, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t even known that Alaska was so worried about her future as a ruler, but then she guessed that she had confided in Sharon during their stint as passionate lovers. Not a single letter had arrived from her in the past few months but again, she had just assumed Alaska was busy with her new duties and her old flame.

“I’m not upset.” Sharon added, sounding far more upset than she was trying to play it off as. “I knew this would happen. I’m - This is what’s best for her, and I got over that long before she even broke up with me. It’s this fucking letter that’s got me. Here, see how fucking different she is now.”

Dear Ms Sharon Needles,

It is regrettable that I inform you of the termination of our relationship. Truly I have loved you for a long time and every moment we spent together I shall treasure in my heart and honour in my memory for as long as I live. Still, I find it pertinent that I explain to you my decision and my reasoning, so that you are not left hanging on to a feeble dream of what once was.

When we met, I was a young princess still unsure of my fate, and you were the escape into the wilderness that I had always dreamed about. How fantastically romantic it was, and thrilling to escape with you and to learn skills that no self-respecting princess should know. It was exhilarating and you, dearest, were breathtaking.

However, I know that you are as aware as I am that a relationship between a simple servant and the queen of a kingdom should never exist. A marriage between us would be impossible and thus, I have to put my loyal subjects and the future of my home before a fling with a heathen. I know that you understand this.

Perhaps we will keep in touch, and I may see you once in a while, should I visit Princess Willam’s home. Rest assured I bear no ill will towards you, but that it is only status keeping us apart.

Farewell and best wishes,

Queen Alaska E.J.T,

Glamatronia

“So politely worded.” Sharon muttered, as Willam came to the end of the neatly-written letter. “Such a kind, loving way to tell me that she’s given up on us because I’m poor and my lowly, shit-shovelling status won’t help her progress in life. I honestly - honestly! - don’t care, it’s just…”

She tore the letter from Willam’s grasp and tucked it into the front pocket of her shirt. “We never talked about status. That never mattered. She was a princess and I was a servant but when we were together, none of that meant anything. She was just Alaska and I was just Sharon.”

A pause. “Sorry. Shouldn’t be talking shit about your friend. Off with my head, right?”

Willam shook her head fervently. “Sharon, this is… I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she’s done this. I don’t… who in their right mind would break up with you?”

Sharon’s eyes shot up. “Huh?”

Did I really just say that? To Sharon? What the hell does that even mean?

“I mean, uh… Well, I mean what I said. Really, what reason does she have besides some bullshit about status?”

Sharon smiled, but it lasted only a moment. “You’re sweet, Willam. But I’m not exactly a catch and I knew that when I began this shit with Alaska. I just hate that she had to remind me that I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing. Who says you’re not a catch?” Willam had no control over any of the words that left her lips. She needed to move, or leave, or do something, before she ended up saying something that she would regret for the rest of her life.

This time, Sharon let out a proper laugh, and the harsh, barking cackle was like music to Willam’s ears.

“Are you serious? Willam, look at me.” Please, Sharon, I’m having trouble tearing my eyes away from you. “I’m not marriage material, I have nothing to give. I have no dowry, my father is unknown and so I bear my mother’s maiden name purely because it’s the only one there is, and she died six years ago.” I don’t need money. I don’t need anything, you wouldn’t have to give anything to me. “Plus as far as wifely duties go I’m a mess, sure I can serve but I drink and swear like a sailor and absolutely nobody would find that attractive.” I do, I find it incredibly attractive, I think you’re more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. “I don’t even dress properly, for fuck’s sake. I’m either in a servant uniform or these breeches and shirt, neither of which are appropriate.” But my god do they look good on you, does everything look good on you?

What the hell is happening to me?

“Sharon, come on. You’ve never looked in a mirror and once thought that you’re beautiful? You’ve never heard me laughing at your jokes and realized how funny and charming you are?”

Just like that, Sharon’s features softened. She looked up at Willam, and god, her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. They reminded Willam of the sky at night, dark and inky and shining with flecks of stars, and all at once everything made sense to her. The misplaced anger, the confusion, the rising jealousy…

Sharon had been setting her heart aflame for years and she had been ignoring it for way too long.

“You… you think I’m beautiful? And charming?” Sharon ran a hand through her hair, an action Willam had become accustomed to watching her do when she was nervous. “God, with all the shit I’ve said to you in the palace over the years I should be sat in a dungeon, not being complimented by you. This makes no sense.”

Willam shook her head softly. “Fuck… Sharon, you’ve never made sense to me. I don’t think you ever will.”

Sharon’s hair was as soft as it looked, and her skin was smooth and warm, and somehow they were kissing and Willam’s heart was racing and her pulse was heightened and my god, she had been pining for this for so long and now nothing else in the world mattered. All that mattered was here and now, and if the world erupted into storm and fire around them she wouldn’t have noticed or cared, because she was kissing Sharon and she had wanted to kiss this fucking girl ever since she was fifteen, serving girl or not.

They broke apart moments later, and Sharon’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. A torrent of hateful thoughts began to flood her brain and Willam didn’t know what to do other than stare.

“I have to go.” She blurted out, her stomach jolting so horribly that she was sure she was going to vomit. As quick as she could she bolted away, leaving Sharon alone in the grass, certain she had ruined any kind of friendship they had managed to build up over the years. It had always been on tenterhooks and just as Sharon was at her most vulnerable, Willam had ruined everything with a kiss that she didn’t even want and that was it, friendship over, and every day for here out was going to be an utter nightmare all because Willam’s heart wouldn’t stop flipping and somersaulting at the thought of Sharon, all because her hands snaked south when she pictured Sharon as she had done in the barn, her breasts exposed and her skin shining with sweat, lying beneath her in Alaska’s position.

Everything, ruined, because of one stupid kiss.

God. Willam hated Sharon.

–

Twenty one. Six months passed, Willam turned twenty one, and Sharon was pretty much nowhere to be seen. Willam heard from another servant that she was taking some of the dirtier jobs, checking the dungeons and scrubbing the kitchen floors, so she wasn’t tending to Willam and helping her get dressed and making her laugh anymore.

It was official, Willam had ruined everything. The only time she saw Sharon was to spar with her, which they still did, but Sharon was nothing other than a teacher, harsh and ruthless and blunt, but never laughing, never smiling. She was closed off and distant and this, this must’ve been what heartbreak felt like because the pain in Willam’s chest never left. Their sparring conversations were brief but it was something, and Willam would do anything just to bring back their old laughter.

It was still agonising to spend so much time watching Sharon grow sweaty and breathless and to watch her muscles flexing as she demonstrated moves Willam could only hope of learning to do. Willam loved the tightness and the seriousness of her face as much as she loved when it was full of laughter and light, so at least she still had that to fall back on.

Loved. God, she had it bad.

It was January, a freezing cold winter, and Willam was winning a fight. Contrary to what she had expected, this victory didn’t make her feel good whatsoever. Sharon wasn’t even trying, and Willam understood that they weren’t on the best of terms right now, but this was just downright insulting. She didn’t need some stupid fake victory to boost her self-esteem.

“Fucking hell,” She swore, lunging at Sharon and cursing as she dodged poorly and ended up being struck squarely in the shoulder. “You’re seriously out of shape. I’ve barely even broken a sweat and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

She swept her leg in a smooth circle - a move that Sharon had spent weeks teaching her and had perfected the dodge for. Instead of leaping over it, which Willam knew Sharon was capable of, the strike threw her to the ground and knocked all the air out of her lungs. Willam was painfully reminded of when they had first met, at thirteen, and that image gripped at her heart. Instantly, she knelt beside Sharon, who hadn’t moved.

“I’m fine.” She croaked. “Out of practise.”

“Bullshit.” Willam swore again. “Someone like you doesn’t just get out of practise. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Sharon denied vehemently. “Willam, I’m fine. You won, I’m proud of you.”

The fight had been more like a warmup than anything else, so Willam started to get concerned. Sharon’s face was pale and glistening with a sheen of sweat where, as she’d previously taunted, Willam’s was dry. Slightly worried, she pressed a hand to Sharon’s forehead and hissed.

“Jesus fuck, Sharon. You’re sick. Why the hell are you out here fighting with me if you’re sick?”

Sharon struggled to her feet, swaying slightly as though she were drunk. “I’m not sick.”

“Sure. I’m not a princess, either. Sharon Needles, you’re sick. Come with me, now.”

Before Sharon could protest, Willam held up a hand to silence her. “I hate to do this, Sharon, and you know it, but as a princess, I have a right to command you to do as I see fit, and right now I see it fit that you take my coat and put it on, and walk with me to the palace so that I can get you inside and get you warm. At no point during this will you protest against what I have told you. Understood?”

Sharon grumbled, and Willam raised an eyebrow.

Then she cracked a smile and started to lead Sharon back to the palace.

Neither of them talked about their interlocked fingers. Sharon was cold, and being cold was the worst for anyone who was sick. Willam was simply warming her up, preventing her from getting any sicker. Anyone would’ve done it.

Once they made it into Willam’s bedchambers, somehow miraculously unseen by anyone who would go tattling to a governess (which Willam didn’t need, being twenty one and no longer in need of an education, yet still had), she stripped away the coat and handed Sharon one of her silky nightgowns.

Sharon stared at her.

“Come on, bitch, I know you’re not stupid. This is a dress worn in bed. Put the damn thing on.” She watched Sharon expectantly.

“In front of you?” Her voice was thick, now, clear evidence that despite whatever she claimed, she was most definitely sick.

Willam shrugged. “You’ve dressed me hundreds of times, get your clothes off and get this on. I’m going to call on the kitchen real quick, when I get back you better have the dress on and be tucked in bed, got it? No complaints, hop to it.”

Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but judging by the sudden wince, her throat was too sore to say anything in response, and Willam darted out to speak to someone who could relay a message to the kitchen. She asked for hot soup and broth and tea and bread, trying to think of anything she could that might make Sharon feel better. Camomile went on the list, as did peppermint. Perhaps it was a little excessive, but Willam really, really cared about Sharon, and she knew winters could be cruel.

Her heart nearly melted when she re-entered the room, taking the tray from the young servant and opting to carry it in herself. Not only did Sharon look beyond beautiful in her dress, flattering her figure better than Willam had seen on anyone else, she looked ridiculously sweet and helpless in the middle of her huge bed, huddled beneath the layers of sheets.

Willam smiled tenderly, happy that the kitchen had honoured her strange request of a slightly damp, cold flannel to go with the assortment of teas and broths. She placed it on Sharon’s head to attempt to relieve her fever, ignoring her protests of how cold she was.

“I know, I know. I got sick last winter and it was horrible.” Willam told her, stroking her hair. “Here, have some of this tea. Drink it slowly, I think it will help.”

Having lost the energy to fight, Sharon just did as she was told. The tip of her nose had turned a rosy pink and Willam wanted nothing more than to kiss it.

“Sit with me.” Came her request, whispered so quietly and yet registering in Willam’s mind as though she had shouted it from the rooftops for the whole kingdom to hear. “Please.”

She was truly unable to say no. Without another thought, Willam slipped underneath the covers beside Sharon, who was absurdly warm and soft and jesus christ Willam had thought about this scenario so many times and it wasn’t happening how she had imagined it and yet still, somehow, Sharon was in her bed and she was a warm soft weight and really, what else mattered?

Sharon shuffled close and lay her head on Willam’s shoulder, and it was all she could do not to explode into a million tiny pieces.

“You know, I thought I had ruined everything when - when I kissed you.” She found herself saying, almost tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I ran because I was so sure you hated me for doing that to you, especially right after Alaska…”

She caught herself before things got too personal. “Then I hardly saw you and it just confirmed my fears and I’m so, so sorry. Sharon, I care about you way too much to hurt you like that, and it’s so confusing to me. Sometimes I swear I hate you just because I don’t understand why I like you so much.”

Sharon snuffled, nestling closer to Willam. “I thought you hated me.” Sharon replied sleepily, and somehow the proximity of their two bodies was right, as though two jigsaw pieces had perfectly slotted together. “I was scared to come by you in case… in case you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you.” Willam reassured her, and then bit her lip from how forward it was. “I mean… I never know what to say around you. I’ve never wanted anyone to like me so much in my life. Our friendship has always meant so much to me, and the thought of ruining it…”

“Liked it.” Sharon murmured, her words becoming more and more nonsensical as she drifted into a sleepy trance. “Liked when you kissed me… always been pretty…”

Willam chuckled softly, careful not to jostle Sharon too much. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Thank you for the tea… and the bed… and the cuddle…” Sharon told her, and it was so fucking sweet that Willam could’ve cried. “Love you…”

Willam kissed the tip of her nose. Sharon fell asleep in her arms and it was exactly where she was meant to be.

It was a weird relationship. All Willam knew was that she loved Sharon so, so fucking much.


End file.
